Abbey's Road: A Letter to Carbs

I know it’s been awhile since we spent some quality time together, and I want you to know I miss you.

I miss the way you sit on the pantry shelf for months without going bad; the way you cook to al dente firmness in 9 minutes and I can dress you up with a can of Prego and grated parm, winning over even the pickiest of eaters.

I miss the late-night soirees with the family-size box of Cheez-Its and the hasty after-school handfuls of Goldfish; the chocolate Cheerios that pass Mom’s Acceptable Breakfast Test because they’re Cheerios and not Coco Puffs.

I pine for doughnuts on lazy Saturday mornings, when you leave powdered sugar residue on Tiny’s nose and the girls choose obnoxious combinations of Different Forms of Sugar to put on top of you to make you even more beautiful and obnoxious.

And the mac ‘n cheese — all the mac ‘n cheese.

Give me a second, I’m puddling up.

The truth is that Doc says we need to stop seeing so much of each other. What’s with that guy, anyway?

A decade of medical training and suddenly you have license to become a heartbreaker, I guess.

Last week I bought a low-carb cookbook so our family could eat more healthfully. The first recipe I tried, which substituted broccoli and cauliflower for elbow macaroni, was smartly named “Mock and Cheese.”

“That’s how the British say it,” Mr. Roy cunningly explained to the girls.

If only we were so refined.

The Mock looked kind of beautiful when it came out of the oven — it even had bacon on top. Bookworm, who is traditionally open-minded when it comes to trying new things, was immediately on board and begged me to make it again.

The Architect pushed it around on her plate for awhile and eventually settled for picking out the cheese, chicken and bacon while leaving the veggies behind, entirely defeating the purpose.

Tiny put one bite in her mouth, said “Yuck!” and spit it out. She has a surprisingly expansive vocabulary for an 18-month-old.

Mr. Roy was pretty silent, so I took that as a good sign.

This period of separation has been a little confusing for the girls, who will spontaneously hold up items of food and ask if they are carbohydrates.

“Is this a carbohydrate?” The Architect asked after lunch one day, stabbing a jelly bean with her fork.

“Um, well, not necessarily,” I replied. “It’s more like bread and pasta and cookies. Stuff like that.”

“Oh,” she said, and looked at me with her big, blue eyes. “So we’re not going to have mac and cheese anymore?”

Such intense heartbreak.

“Of course we will, Honey. Maybe just not every other week.”

Travesty of travesties!

Oh, Carbohydrates. Why must you be so detrimental in excess?

I have to trust that we’re better off apart, but this experience is really stretching the limits of my powers of self-control.

Anyway, hope all is well on your end. Send my love to the doughnuts.

Yours in Deliciousness,

Abbey

Abbey Roy is a mom of three girls who make every day an adventure. She writes to maintain her sanity. You can probably reach her at amroy@nncogannett.com, but responses are structured around bedtimes and weekends.